


Don't Drink and Snap... Or Maybe Do?

by Olsies



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Dick Pics, Emetophobia, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Unsolicited Dick Pic, enjoy, idek, stan is very drunk, this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23815567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olsies/pseuds/Olsies
Summary: Stanley Uris is Very Drunk and left unattended in Richie Tozier's room.
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70





	Don't Drink and Snap... Or Maybe Do?

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: do NOT drink and snap.

Stanley Uris was gently pushed onto a very soft, unmade bed. Normally he would have argued, but he was drunk. Very drunk. Drunker than he had been in his entire life. And it was Richie Tozier’s bed. Stan curled up on his side as one of his friends ran their fingers through his hair and turned out the light, leaving him alone. Stan tugged Richie’s blankets up over him and took a deep breath, inhaling Richie’s scent. He dozed for a bit and woke up when someone came in to check on him.

“You doin’ ok, Staniel?” Richie asked. Stan blinked up at him.

“Drunked,” Stan said. “Sleep.” Richie smiled and fluffed his hair. Stan sighed softly and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the room was spinning. He was alone, but he could hear the party still going on out in the next room. He lay there for several moments, trying to will away the growing sick feeling. Eventually he got up and went to the bathroom to vomit but nothing happened. He washed his face and drank some water out of the tap before leaving the bathroom. Someone saw him coming out.

“You ok, honey?” Bev asked. “Are we being too loud?” He swayed a little, leaning on the wall for support. Bev got up and came over to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” Stan nodded and put his head on her shoulder. She helped him take off his shoes and socks before he settled back in bed.

“I’m gonna go get you some water. I’ll be right back,” she said and left him. She came back a moment later with a cold water bottle. “Here.” She opened it. He sat up and took a long drink. “Get some sleep.” Stan nodded and curled back up into Richie’s bed and sighed. As soon as she was gone, he flicked on Richie’s lamp and laid back before pulling out his phone. He started scrolling through Snapchat, smiling at the different videos and pictures his friends were posting. It was a good party.

Richie’s feed was particularly funny to watch. He started the night taking normal Richie pictures, but as it got later, the pictures were off center, out of focus, but the last two were the best. In one he was trying to take a picture of their friends, but his finger was covering half the camera and it was blurry. The other one was a very close up of the bridge of his nose and the corner of his eye. Stan just snorted a little.

Stan hadn’t meant to get so drunk, but Bev had poured the drinks so strong, and it wasn’t long before he couldn’t feel his face any more. How he’d gotten in Richie’s bed, he wasn’t entirely sure, but in that moment he didn’t care. He stared down at a picture Eddie had taken of him and Richie in the front room, Richie’s arm slung over his shoulder as he kissed Stan wetly on the cheek. Stan knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but fuck did he wish Richie had meant something. Licking his lips he glanced at the door and shook his head a little.

When he got through his friends’ feeds, he started looking at the recommended stories. He was starting to feel less nauseous and wondered if the others would let him get up when he got The Idea. He wasn’t even sure where he got The Idea, it was definitely not something _Sober Stan_ would even consider, but he wasn’t sober. He got up and went to the door. The party was still raging on the other side, so he locked Richie’s door and crawled back in his bed. He unzipped his pants, tugging out his dick, stroking himself a little. In the back of his head he was a little amazed he was able to get hard at all considering how drunk he was, but he ignored that part of his brain, just like he ignored the part that was screaming at him that this was a terrible idea.

He grabbed his phone and unlocked it, heart pounding in his chest as he opened Snapchat again, swiped right, and opened his conversation with Richie. Most of the time they sent each other stupid memes or stupid pictures they thought the other might enjoy. Stan ignored these and pushed the little camera button. It took a second for the camera to pull up. He had no idea why he was doing this. He held the camera so it angled down. He held his dick in his hand, his thumb smearing a little bit of precum over the head. He had no idea why the thought of sending Richie Tozier a dick pic from Richie’s own bed was getting him so hard, but the evidence was clear. This was hot.

But his thumb hovered over the picture capture button.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as there was a loud thud and bang just outside the door. Stan jerked, rolling over on himself, his phone getting smashed between his hand and his stomach. He closed his eyes tightly as some people started laughing outside the room. Eventually they moved away, and Stan relaxed a little until he looked down at his phone and saw he’d sent _something_ to Richie.

The world went hazy when he watched as Richie’s little bitmoji popped up showing he was opening their conversation, and he almost threw up when the little red arrow turned white, and the message went from Delivered to Opened. He shoved himself back into his pants and had just zipped himself up when Richie knocked on the door. Stan tugged the covers up and over himself, burrowing deep in the blankets. Richie tried the door and knocked again when he found it locked.

“Stan, let me in,” Richie said loudly. Stan just lay there, eyes squeezed shut. He was so fucking stupid, what the fuck was wrong with him? Richie knocked again. “Stan, just let me in so we can talk.” Someone started talking to Richie but Stan couldn’t make out who it was. Richie huffed and Stan listened to him walk away.

“What’s wrong?” Mike asked.

“I don’t know,” Bev said. “Stan’s locked himself in Richie’s bedroom.”

“He what?” Bill asked. More voices joined theirs but Stan just concentrated on making himself as small as possible, which, at 6’4”, wasn’t that small. He felt hot tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He couldn’t believe he’d done this incredibly stupid thing. He jumped when he heard the window open. Richie fell through the window, cussing and grunting.

“Shit,” Richie murmured as he tried to untangle himself from his curtains. Stan heard something tear as he waited for Richie to acknowledge him, but Richie just went to the door and opened it.

“Hey, I’m in. Nothing’s wrong, please get the hell away from my door,” Richie said jovially. 

“Richie, how the fuck did you climb the tree when you can barely walk straight?” Bill asked.

“Richie, that looks like that hurts,” Bev said. “And your curtain is still tangled-”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was fine. Now, please, scoot along,” Richie said. There was a little bit of a scuffle, and Richie closed the door. Stan squeaked when he heard the door lock. Again, he waited for Richie to acknowledge him, but Richie just went to his minifridge and pulled out a drink. Stan listened as he opened the can of something and sat heavily at his desk chair.

“I know you’re not asleep,” Richie said after taking a drink. Stan didn’t move. Richie sighed. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s ok. I just want to make sure _you’re_ ok.”

“I don’t know why I did that,” Stan mumbled.

“What’s that?” Richie asked. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak blanket. Think you can pull the comforter down, hun?” Stan swallowed and tugged the blanket down a little but kept his eyes shut, his cheeks burning so hot.

“I don’t know why I did that,” Stan said.

“Do you mean, you don’t know why you sent it at all or sent it to me?” Richie asked. Stan licked his lips. He listened as Richie shoved the back of the chair right up against the bed. He sat down backwards. Stan knew this because he could feel Richie’s arms on the bed. He was careful not to touch Stan, but Stan still was _very_ aware of where they were.

“Richie, ‘m drunk,” Stan managed. Richie considered this for a moment.

“Yes, but it also looked like you were-”

“Don’t!” Stan growled, his shame turning to burning anger. He opened his eyes and saw Richie’s stupid, beautiful, smiling face. He wanted to slap him.

“Ok,” Richie said. They looked at each other for a moment. “So, was that picture meant for me?” Richie pressed. Stan said nothing. “Although, if it wasn’t meant for me, who would it have been meant for?” Richie pondered aloud. “It has to be someone in the Losers Club; we’d know if you were interested in someone else. But who could it be? I doubt it was meant for Bill or Eddie. They are so disgustingly in love that you wouldn’t dare encroach. I don’t think it could have been meant Ben or Mike, because again with the disgusting amounts of love. And if it was meant for Bev well, I’m pretty sure Patty would have some things to say about that.” He paused. “So that, logically, leaves lil’ ol’ me,” Richie said, “and we all know how much you love logic.”

“Richie,” Stan whispered finally. Richie looked at him with an attempt at an innocent face, but he was terrible at it. Stan snorted despite himself. Richie’s smile softened.

“Hey, Stan,” Richie whispered.

“Hi, Richie,” Stan replied. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’ve got leaves in your hair.” Richie brushed his hair back a little, but only a few leaves fluttered out, but when he was bringing his hand down, Stan saw a huge scrape on his arm.

“That looks like that hurts,” Stan said. Richie shrugged him off.

“I’m fine,” Richie said. Stan sighed. He knew there was no point in arguing with Richie. Stan lay there and stared up at Richie. He wanted to sit up and run his fingers through Richie’s hair and-

“What are you thinking about?” Richie asked, startling Stan out of his daydream.

“Nothing,” Stan muttered as he closed his eyes again. He wanted to pull the blanket back over his head. Richie had said they didn’t have to talk about it, and Stan was clearly fine, so why the fuck was Richie still there?

After a few minutes, Richie sighed and got up. “It’s ok, Stan. Whatever’s going on, it will be ok. You’ll see. You can stay here as long as you need,” Richie said and left, closing the door softly behind him. Stan rolled onto his back and tears rolled down his cheeks. Everything was so fucked. He wondered if he was sober enough to get back to his house, pack a bag, and get on a bus to where ever the fuck was farthest from where he was right then.

His phone dinged and he pulled it out. He had a new Snapchat from Richie. Shaking a little, he opened the app and slid open the conversation page. He looked at the little red square icon that said he had a new picture and just closed his eyes. After a moment he opened the picture and just stared for a moment.

Richie had sent him a dick pic from the bathroom. Stan couldn’t do anything but stare at it for a moment, it was so much more than he thought it would be. He swallowed hard and his phone dinged again.

_Richie: I’m going to guess that you meant to send that picture to me, and even if you didn’t now we’re even._  
_If you did mean to send that picture, I don’t know what to say._

Stan’s heart sank a little as he watched Richie’s bitmoji go a little crazy showing he was still typing.

_Richie: You are so gorgeous, it’s hard to believe you actually meant that for me, as blurry as it was._  
_It took me a good moment to figure out what it was, because damn boy, it was blurry. What even happened there?_  
_If you really didn’t mean that for me, well, we don’t ever have to talk about this again. We’re square._

Stan took a deep breath. The picture was already gone, and he couldn’t help but feel a little sad. He took a deep breath and looked down at his phone. He looked around Richie’s room and rubbed his face.

A few minutes passed and Stan eventually tugged the blanket off of him. He hit the camera button again but didn’t hesitate this time as he took a picture of his fully clothed legs and tagged it, _Come back in here, please._ He hit send and Richie burst through the door so hard and so fast, Stan was surprised he didn’t yell “ _Oh, yeah!_ ” like the KoolAid man. Richie pushed the door closed and locked the door again. He hesitated for a moment and then Stan shifted back a little and patted the space between the edge of the bed and himself.

Richie tripped over his own feet as he rushed forward, narrowly missing smacking his face on the chair, but he just used it as a step and climbed up next to Stan. He slid his hands against Stan’s cheeks and into his hair pulling him for a kiss, tentative at first and then rougher when Stan kissed him back.

“Jesus, Stanley,” Richie managed when they broke apart, but Stan just shoved his nose into Richie’s neck, breathing in his scent. He left several soft open mouthed kisses along Richie’s neck. Richie lifted Stan’s face up so he could look at him.

“The picture was for you,” Stan said. “Although, I have no idea what possessed me to send it.” Richie smiled and kissed him, licking his way into Stan’s mouth. Stan let him in, enjoying the weight and feel of Richie’s tongue in his mouth. He tasted like soda and rum and chocolate. Richie scooted so he was laying on top of Stan, never breaking the kiss. He settled between Stan’s legs and they lay there just kissing for such a long time.

When they finally broke apart, Richie peppered Stan’s chin with little kisses, his breath coming in heavy bursts. Stan took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“What now?” Stan asked. He could hardly believe this was happening. Richie pulled back a little.

“Now I’m going to go get us some water, and some tylenol, and we’re going to sleep, and we’ll continue this tomorrow,” Richie said. He got up and Stan frowned.

“Oh,” he said in a small voice. Richie leaned down, planting a hand on either side of Stan’s head, and kissed him softly on the mouth.

“It’s not that I don’t want this, because fucking trust me, I do Stanny,” Richie said. “I just want to make sure this is a decision you would make sober, so you won’t regret it in the morning.” He paused. “I mean, if you didn’t mean it, there’s a lot to regret, but I’d rather not add.” Stan leaned up and kissed him. It did sound reasonable enough, and his nausea was coming back. Maybe it would be better to just drink some water and sleep. There was no need to add.

When Richie slipped out of the room, Stan couldn’t hear anything from the front room, so he figured the party must have broken up. He sighed and undid his pants again, this time leaving his boxers on and just shoving the jeans off the bed. Richie came back in just as he was pulling the comforter over himself again.

“Here,” Richie said. He handed Stan some pills and a half drank water bottle. “Last one, sorry.” Stan just shrugged and finished the bottle as he took the pills. He laid down and faced the wall. Richie tugged out of his shirt and pants before climbing in behind Stan, gently kissing his shoulder blade as he wrapped his arms around Stan.

“Is this ok?” Richie asked. Stan slipped his fingers into Richie’s.

“Yeah, Richie,” Stan whispered. “This is great.” He’d thought it would take forever for him to fall asleep, but he was out almost as soon as he closed his eyes.

***

The next day, Stan woke up to a pounding headache. He felt so out of it. He tried to twist around to get in a more comfortable position but ended up elbowing someone.

“Shit, sorry,” he muttered. He opened his eyes and looked around, confused. This wasn’t his bed. He froze as the person behind him snuffled in their sleep.

 _Where the fuck am I?_ He thought to himself as he desperately tried to remember the night before. He got flashes of drinking, of Richie being a pest. He remembered Bill bringing him to Richie’s room to lay down. He remembered sleeping and waking up to go to the bathroom. He remembered Snapchat.

He tried to bolt out of bed but it made the pounding in his head worse and his stomach churned.

“Stan, wha-” Richie tried.

“Trash can!” Stan yelled and Richie grabbed it and shoved it in Stan’s face just in time. Richie sat there next to him rubbing his back as he hurled into the little trash can. When he was done, Richie put on his glasses and got up to get Stan some water. He came back quickly and Stan took the cup. He swished the first mouthful around in his mouth and spat it in the trash can. Richie handed him some kleenex and Stan blew his nose before drinking some water.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Stan said. Richie just shook his head and put the trash can on the chair before sitting on the bed.

“Feel better?” Richie asked. Stan took a deep breath and tried to take stock of himself. He _did_ feel a bit physically better, but then he remembered Snapchat again, and tears fell down his cheeks. “Hey, hey. It’s ok, Stan,” Richie said pulling Stan close. “Everyone throws up sometimes. It was bound to happen.”

“That’s not-” Stan said. “That’s not why-” Richie pulled away and wiped some of the tears from his cheek away with his thumb. Stan stared down at his naked chest “I’m sorry about last night.” Richie studied him for a moment and leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

“I’m not,” Richie said, and Stan’s eyes shot up to meet his.

“But-” Stan started, and Richie smiled.

“I would shove you down on the bed to show you how _not sorry_ I am, but I don’t think your stomach could handle that, plus, and I am sorry to point this out, your breath is kind of rank,” Richie said laughing gently. Stan blushed and put his hand up to his mouth. Richie leaned over and kissed the back of his hand. “That being said, is this a conversation you want to have right now?” Stan sat there for a moment, his heart thumping heavily in his chest.

“I don’t know,” Stan finally managed. Richie’s smile faltered a little and he pulled back.

“Fair enough,” he said, sliding out of bed. “I’m gonna go make some coffee.” He left before Stan could stop him. Groaning, he laid back down gently and shoved his face in his hands. His phone began to ring. He rolled over and grabbed it to see it was Bill calling him.

“Hey, Stan! How are you doin?’” Bill asked, loudly. Stan winced and jerked the phone away from his head.

“You are an evil, evil man,” Stan said. “Why the fuck are you calling so early?”

“Early?” Bill asked. “Stan, it’s almost three in the afternoon.” Stan blinked for a moment. There was no way. “Wait, were you still asleep?”

“Basically,” Stan said. “How the-” Richie came back in and sat a cup of coffee down on his desk made just the way Stan liked it. He left again without a word. “How the fuck did I sleep all day?”

“Dude, you were so fucking wasted last night,” Bill said. “I’ve never seen you so drunk.” Stan winced a little.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never been that drunk,” he said. “My head is fucking killing me.”

“Wanna get some food?” Bill asked. “It’ll help.” Stan took a deep breath and sighed.

“No, I’ve gotta take care of some stuff first,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later though, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure, see you tonight,” Bill said. “Feel better.” Stan hung up and picked up the coffee. He blew on it and took an experimental sip. It was warm but not too hot. He took a larger drink and waited. When his stomach didn’t immediately reject it, he took another sip. Slowly, he drank his coffee, and thought about the night before. He _knew_ Richie had kissed him, and it wasn’t a pity kiss, it was a _fucking_ kiss. He couldn’t quite remember why they stopped, but he just shook away the thought as he tried to remember what Richie tasted like. He blushed when he tried to remember what Richie’s dick looked like. When he was done with his coffee, he got up and went to the kitchen to find Richie sitting sideways at the table playing something on his Switch. He glanced up when he heard Stan put his mug in the sink.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Richie asked.

“Better,” Stan said. “I’ll be right back.” He went to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He opened the medicine cabinet praying that there was a spare toothbrush, and he was rewarded. “Thank you,” he whispered to no one as he picked up Richie’s toothpaste. When he was done brushing his teeth, he splashed some water on his face and went back out to the kitchen. Richie had gotten dressed, and was now laying down on the couch.

“Hey, Richie,” Stan said. Richie paused his game and looked up. “I’m ready to talk now.” Richie put the Switch to sleep and set it on the table next to him. Stan hesitated for a moment as Richie sat up. Stan sat next to him. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was- well, you saw me. My head was fucking pounding, and it was just a very confusing way to wake up, but I don’t regret last night.” Almost smiling, Richie opened his mouth and closed it again. “That picture was meant for you.” Richie chuffed and shook his head.

“I fucking knew it,” he said and pushed himself closer to Stan. “Did you brush your teeth?” He asked as he gently touched Stan’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. Stan nodded. “Good, cause I’m going to kiss you.” He closed the space in between them and Stan sighed. Richie kissed him gentler than Stan even knew Richie was capable of. When he pulled back, he shoved his forehead into Stan’s.

“It would be a very bad idea if I were to pounce on you and make out with you, wouldn’t it?” Richie asked. Stan nodded.

“Probably, unfortunately,” Stan said a little sheepishly. “But I can’t wait until my stomach isn’t doing fuck knows what.” Richie kissed him again.

“Let’s go get you some food, maybe that will help,” Richie said. Stan nodded a little. He got up and went back to Richie’s room to get his pants. After putting on their shoes, they stood awkwardly at the door.

“So, uh, where do you want to go?” Richie asked. Stan shook his head.

“You’re going to have to decide that,” Stan said. “My stomach-” Richie smiled and kissed Stan’s temple.

“Fair enough,” Richie said. They walked out to Richie’s car and climbed in. Still holding Richie’s hand, Stan leaned his head against the window and stared out at the houses passing by. It was weird to think that this time yesterday, he was happily minding his own business, getting ready for a simple party with his best friends, and now he and Richie were going to get breakfast at three in the afternoon. Despite his head and his stomach, Stan couldn’t help but feel _good._ Better, in fact, than he had in a long time.

Richie squeezed his hand and Stan squeezed back as he looked at him.

“You doing ok over there, babe?” Richie asked.

“I’m great,” Stan said. “I’m doing really great.” He watched Richie for a few minutes, and then put his head back up against the window and closed his eyes as they drove down the road.


End file.
